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April 18, 2014 / 18 Nisan, 5774
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Posts Tagged ‘Chol Hamoed’

Chol Hamoed Survival Guide

Friday, April 6th, 2012

If you are anything like me, Chol Hamoed can be just the teeniest bit stressful. Okay, maybe very, very stressful. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way.

Yes, you just spent a minimum of two to three, or more, weeks scouring every square inch of your humble abode, cooked up massive quantities of food in a minimum amount of time in pots, pans and appliances that you barely even recognize as yours, have spent countless hours washing endless streams of pots, pans, silverware and dishes and then Chol Hamoed rolls around. Despite the inevitable exhaustion that is oozing out of your every pore, your entire family wants you to not only prepare gourmet food but structure social activities that are fun, enticing and will make them the envy of everyone they know.

If you are anything like me you will try your best not to have a meltdown as you explain to your family members that with all the work you have done preparing for Pesach you have zero interest in being designated the family social director as well.

Take a deep breath and remind everyone, including yourself, that you don’t have a cape, you don’t have superpowers and you can’t possibly do everything, for everyone all at once. What your family is envisioning requires you to be in multiple places at once and requires an endless supply of money, which you probably don’t have, having just bought matzah, food for an eight day eating extravaganza and clothing for the entire family. So tell everyone to take a chill pill and remember that if they want to live in Fantasyland, they need to head down to Disney World. Because you can either prepare gourmet meals every day of Chol Hamoed or you can plan exciting activities to keep everyone entertained. You can’t possibly do both.

But that’s okay, because neither can anyone else. So just relax. You have worked so hard to get this far; it is finally time to enjoy a well-deserved break. Let’s start with the food. Go check your refrigerator. Got leftovers? Great. Then put them to good use.

Flake up leftover roast and serve it with a salad for supper one night. Dice up extra chicken and resurrect it as chicken salad or chicken potpie. (Skip the bottom crust. Trust me. No one needs all those extra calories this week.) Don’t have any leftovers? Cook up a pot of hot dogs or buy a package of cold cuts and remember that this just isn’t a week for dieting. Feel free to add some easy veggies to your menu: think bagged salad, grape tomatoes, mini sweet peppers (depending on your minhagim), or even a jar of pickles, all things that don’t require cutting up. Round out your meals with all those leftover kugel pieces and potatoes that are taking up valuable space in your fridge.

Try yogurt, leben, smoothies, fruit salad or even brownies for breakfast. Lunch choices can include tuna, eggs and if you eat gebrokts, matzah pizza or matzah brei. If you are planning a day trip, try serving a serious breakfast – say scrambled eggs, matzah and lots of sliced veggies – giving you the option of a lighter lunch which could consist of yogurt, string cheese, fruit, nuts or anything else that is easily totable. Feel free to freeze a few water bottles to take with you. Not only will they keep your perishables cold, but you will have drinks for the family as well.

Now that at least some of your meals have been taken care of, you can enjoy some quality time with your nearest and dearest. With this years’ long Chol Hamoed, there is ample time for lots of family fun, but as always, use your head and plan wisely. It is entirely possible that your teenagers may want to spend a day or two with their friends. Let them. It gives you the perfect opportunity to plan activities that are geared towards either older or younger family members. Check the weather sites and see what the forecast is for Chol Hamoed, taking advantages of the best weather for outdoor activities.

If your family enjoys the big outdoors then budget friendly opportunities abound. Try hiking, biking, rollerblading, or if the winds allow, kite flying at your local park. Stroll across the George Washington or Brooklyn Bridge. Pay a visit to the nearest (or not so near, if you are in the mood of traveling) botanical gardens and enjoy the most fascinating time of year as the trees start to leaf and the flowers start to bloom. (For those of you with springtime allergies, don’t even think about leaving the house without taking some form of allergy medicine.)

Chronicles Of Crises In Our Communities

Thursday, April 5th, 2012

Dear Readers,

Pesach is here and the heady scent of spring is in the air. As tulip bulbs push their beautiful blossoms to the earth’s surface in a burst of color, a sense of optimism takes hold of single men and women who await that special call they fervently hope will culminate in a Chol Hamoed date with their predestined mates.

In the following letter, one young woman bares her soul with regard to her own springtime experiences with promising dates. As she gives voice to her innermost thoughts and emotions, we are made to reflect on the plight of singles whose pain we have the power to assuage in so many ways.

Besides trying our hand at matchmaking, we can offer a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, an invitation for Shabbos or Yom Tov or just because… in short, our heartfelt friendship.

 

Dear Rachel,

As only the many singles in my age bracket may understand, I hate the holidays. Especially Pesach. Spring is a time of rebirth and awakening, anticipations and what ifs… or do I harbor romantic notions, erroneously perhaps? I hope not. Yet I fear that I’ve hit the inescapable, overpowering, towering, merciless wall.

I’m a single woman in my mid 30s who began dating many moons ago, but this year’s dating experience has been outright appalling. You may be surprised to know that I am one of those positive, energetic, “young” single females who enjoys and appreciates life as is. Well, at least until now. Of the many men I’ve dated this past year, I was involved in a few serious relationships that I’d been under the impression were quite promising.

I’ve characterized the men I’ve dated into two separate categories, albeit both of the disingenuous kind. The first are those who possess an actual DSM-IV [mental disorder] diagnosis. The second are shrewd, non-committal cowards. Would you believe me if I were to tell you that the latter kind is worse to experience than the first? Over the past six months or so, I’ve experienced the two types in their purest forms. The first was a true sociopath, a master of deceit to the ultimate level. (For the record, we “met” on a frum dating site.) He falsified everything — from his age, marital status, occupations, family and friends, rabbis, excuses for lateness and absence, to what he ate for lunch, and with such simple and believable detail.

But to some degree I blame myself, as I only checked references at a later stage in the game. Nonetheless, the relationship that I thought had occurred never really existed; I dated a man who was a true phantom, more like a Jekyll and Hyde, if you will. He lived a double life, appearing to be the most ideal type of man: kind, intelligent, sensitive and sweet, while maintaining a discrete identity and leading an entirely different “reality” — an idyllic masquerade I wasn’t aware of, but boy did I play my part well, without the script.

I’m being kind withholding specifics from your readers. To put it mildly, truth is indeed stranger than fiction. What’s more alarming is that I met another single woman through a mutual friend, one who had suffered the same encounter with this unwell man. She had checked his references during the initial dating phase, but was nevertheless misled to the point where they were making wedding plans!

Yes, a chilling, bloodcurdling kind of ordeal. After I ended my involvement with him, I was hurt, upset and somewhat traumatized, but not distraught because it is easier to get over someone with a disturbing mental deficiency. After all, how much control can he have over his behavior and actions? I just feel for his other victims and fear for those he’s about to cunningly pounce on.

The second relationship only recently ended and has left me heartbroken. The wound is still raw and I haven’t completely made sense of it all. We’re both not young, he approaching his 40s, and I, calculating how many children G-d can mercifully grant me. After close to two months of dating, he broke down and admitted that he was, “as of yet,” not ready to be in a serious relationship.

Apparently we weren’t on the same page, as neither I, nor the relationship, was a priority for him. He let me know he had matters of more importance to attend to, and, in passing, he managed to acknowledge his fear of change. (Don’t we all fear the unknown?) I delicately alluded to Shakespeare’s cowards die many times before their deaths. All the same, he decided he could not add more stress to his already demanding itinerary and needed to take a break. (What in the world does that mean?!)

Please understand, I sincerely like this man and believe him to be a good, solid individual, albeit “unprepared” to settle down. (In another 20 years from now, maybe…?) I just wish I had trusted my intuition when at the onset I felt the topics being evaded by him to be some sort of warning sign. No wonder I am ridiculed for being too trusting, and believing in giving people and experiences a more than fair chance. Was he consciously aware of his unreadiness, or that he’d leave me devastated? I think not.

A Tale Of Two Movements

Wednesday, November 2nd, 2011

Like many other families this past Sukkos, my husband and I took the kids to the park over Chol Hamoed. But we left our mitts and bats in the car when we arrived. This was a trip to Manhattan’s Zuccotti Park.

We were curious to see the much publicized protestors of Occupy Wall Street, and I wanted our kids to get a taste of “history” in the making. And, rest assured, this is a piece of history my kids will remember.

The first thing that greeted us as we parked our car several blocks away and got closer to the police barricades surrounding the park was the odor. It was a terrible stench that crept up on us and, both physically and figuratively, never left us until we moved out of the Wall Street area the protesters now claim as their own.

I repeatedly warned my kids not to touch anything as we navigated our way through clusters of sprawling protesters on grounds littered with empty food plates, grimy tarps propped up by poles to cover sleeping bags, and a distinctly strong smell of marijuana. It was dark when we arrived at the park and a large group of protesters were loudly and almost absurdly communicating via their “mic-check” system.

These Occupy Wall Street protesters were predominantly young and white. Most of them looked like college students from universities like the New School or residents of the Village. They did not exactly impress me as being “disenfranchised.” Indeed, the only truly poor people I was able to make out were a couple of homeless men eating donated food from a makeshift open kitchen, surely blessing their luck and hoping the supply won’t run out anytime soon.

I stopped some protesters and asked them what they hoped to achieve. I was dumbfounded. Apparently the caricature of brain-dead college kids hanging out in the park is not an exaggeration. The first several protesters gave answers in an inane and almost adolescent tone: “We want a better world.” “We want equality.” “We’re here for a better planet.”

Though we finally did strike up a conversation with one hardcore opponent of the capitalist order – a young psychology teacher with no real working knowledge of finance – most of the protesters simply struck me as Woodstock wannabes.

I was relieved when we left the park. Relieved to end a conversation with one of the protesters, a teacher who told us how proud he was to be part of “the 99%” – the protesters’ phrase for the percentage of Americans supposedly united against the one percent of our country’s top earners. It wasn’t “fair,” he claimed, for so few people to have so much wealth – never mind that many of them worked hard to earn it – and it was only “fair” to demand the government tax them further to ensure that everyone shares in that wealth.

What a difference from the last protest I took my daughter to – a Tea Party rally in midtown Manhattan. Besides the common bond of a shared philosophical affinity, there’s something comforting in taking your child to a gathering where you see a patriotic man dressed up as a founding father rather than a man holding a sign proclaiming “Queers love the 99%.”

The Tea Party rally was a G-rated event to which you could bring the whole family. It promoted family values over vulgarity, work ethics over entitlements, and independence rather than dependence for 100 percent of Americans.

As an Orthodox Jew I not only felt welcome but validated. Tea Party goers waved Israeli flags along with American ones, while Occupy Wall Street protests are laced with signs that read “Hitler’s Bankers,” “Gaza Supports the Occupation of Wall Street.” and “Congress Should Print the Money, Not the Zionist Jews.”

Taking Judaism Public

Wednesday, October 27th, 2010

Every year at around this time, my husband and I have the same spirited debate: Public Displays of Judaism (PDJs) – good or bad?

Simchas Torah sparks the first round of discussion. In our community, as in many others, the festivities on Yom Tov eve extend outside the synagogue. A portion of the street is closed to traffic, and dancing and singing echo in the chilly air. Then comes Chanukah. As the rest of the world is abuzz in Christmas lights, giant menorahs are lit with great fanfare in public squares all across the city. A few months later, it’s Purim, with kids (and some adults, too) parading through the streets in costume.

Whatever your instinctive position on PDJs, the issue is well worth reflecting upon, as it raises important questions about the proper posture of Torah observance in galus and the sources of anti-Semitism.

Let’s take Simchas Torah. As an initial matter, closing the street does inconvenience motorists (i.e., non-Jews and non-observant Jews), but it’s usually just one block and not a peak traffic hour, so the imposition is minimal.

Of greater concern is that any time people gather in a large group with license to celebrate, there is the risk of some individuals taking things too far. Over the years, I am sure we have all seen Simchas Torah festivities lead to uncouth, sacrilegious, downright offensive behavior. It is bad enough when this takes place inside the shul. But outside in the street? Beyond the pale. One year, my husband and I were visiting family in another community. When the dancing moved outside, one man, apparently well past the point of inebriation, keeled over and vomited into the street. I was appalled – especially because of the police officers standing a few feet away. If I was so turned off, what could they have been thinking?

Assume for a moment, however, that the outdoor festivities are not unduly boisterous, and that there is no intoxication or inappropriate behavior such as mixed dancing or lewdness. Such a decorous scene might not be the norm, but it is not implausible – it’s more or less what takes place in my neighborhood in lower Manhattan.

If, like my husband, you find dancing outside with the Torah objectionable even under these assumed conditions, then it is not the particulars of the setup that raise a problem but the idea of bringing even the sincerest expressions of Jewish observance into the public sphere.

We are in exile. Although we are (most of us) tax-paying, productive, fully integrated citizens, we do not own the place, so to speak. Outside of Israel, we are not masters of our domain – “am chofshi b’artzenu.” For this reason, my husband argues, it behooves us to keep a low profile. The rationale is not simply to avoid stirring up anti-Semitism (more on that in a moment). It’s more basic than that – a matter of good manners almost. Don’t make a spectacle. Don’t invite commentary. Don’t give fodder to the cultural voyeurs, the wisecrackers looking for a good punch line. Let’s maintain our privacy and thereby elevate the spiritual quality of our Jewish rituals.

Then there is the concern about anti-Semitism. With PDJs, there’s always a risk of chillul Hashem. Someone inevitably will do something that could be perceived in a negative light. This not only tars Hashem’s name but the image of Jews everywhere, as anti-Semites paint with a broad brush. To further generate resentment, add noise pollution, traffic disruption, and diversion of police resources to the list of grievances an onlooker might have.

Setting out the anti-PDJ argument, I have almost persuaded myself. And yet I do not believe we should forswear PDJs altogether.

A public gathering in the name of Torah creates a level of achdus, a sense of shared identity and purpose, and a groundswell of Jewish pride rare in our everyday lives. Private venues are inherently self-limiting, at least in terms of crowd capacity. More important, however, they do not have the open call, “Mi LaHashem Ailei!” dimension of a public staging. What an incredible sight it is to see a cross-section of Jews coming together in service of God. From their first Uncle Moishy tape, our children hear the message: You are Hashem’s foot soldiers; you march to a different beat. Be proud of who you are! Celebrate your Yiddishkeit! PDJs make this lesson come alive.

A ‘New Year’ Resolution

Tuesday, September 28th, 2010

The week-long holiday period that includes Sukkot, Chol Hamoed, Shmini Atzeret and Simchat Torah is almost over, as are all the attendant festivities, celebrations, family gatherings and trips, and of course, all that over-eating and indulging in food and drink. Most of us will happily (or maybe not so happily) go back to being absorbed by our day-to-day routines; for the great majority, life will return to “normal.”

For most of us, the tormenting hunger and thirst – and the heightened and sobering awareness of our fragility, vulnerability and mortality that we experienced on Yom Kippur – are receding memories.

Unfortunately, so too is the fierce resolve that infused our frenetic davening – that we would change for the better; that we would re-examine, shake up and refine the status quo of our attitudes and actions. That given another chance, we would become better Jews and worthier human beings and be deserving of Hashem’s forgiveness and mercy and an inscription in the Book of Life.

Sadly – even predictably – our heart-felt resolutions to improve ourselves in a manner pleasing to God and our passionate internal promise to elevate ourselves physically or spiritually as ovdei Hashem tend to fall by the wayside after a few days or weeks. In this respect we are not so unlike our non-Jewish neighbors, who every January 1 vow that they will change for the better; that they will, for example, stop smoking or start exercising, but find that it is easier to utter this sentiment than to actualize it.

Perhaps we would be more successful in keeping the “promise to upgrade” we so earnestly took upon ourselves (usually while we worriedly immersed ourselves in the U’Netana Tokef prayer) if we focus on a specific takana – correction – instead of just enthusiastically vowing to do teshuvah – but with no direction.

“Oi, Oi, we have to do teshuvah”- the singular refrain one usually hears when there has been heart-wrenching tragedy in the community – has become as “generic” a sentiment as the one we hear on an almost daily basis – “Have a nice day.” That expression is well-meaning – but it has no substance to it. “Nice” doesn’t convey anything concrete – as would for example, the statement, “Hope your train is on time,” or “May your work day be productive.”

Neither does the phrase “doing teshuvah.”

The idea, then, is to actually zero in on an area of your spiritual life where you know you are deficient or lacking, and try to improve it. For some, it can be as simple as slowing down during davening and focusing on what you are saying; or reading the words in a way that you actually understand what you are reading – even if it means praying from a siddur that has English on the facing page.

Resolving to do an act of kindness on a daily basis – such as picking up the phone and brainstorming with a friend to set up single acquaintances or buying a less expensive version of something you want – like a sheitel or outfit and diverting the money saved to tzedakah – is a very doable personal tikkun.

On a personal level, I know that I need to work on being more positive, as opposed to being just “parve” when dealing with people, friend or stranger alike. A classic example of being “parve” is not wishing a good Shabbat to a passerby who obviously is not going to say it to me. I tend to jump to the unsubstantiated conclusion that this person is a snob; that based on a quick glance, I have been assessed as being someone who isn’t “chashuv” enough to warrant a greeting. And so I ignore them as well. In my mind, what comes around goes around. If I do not exist, then you don’t either.

This Yom Kippur however, after reading of the many calamities and misfortunes that can be visited on every individual, as well as the klal, I realized that I was guilty of also “assessing someone based on a quick glance,” and making a hasty judgment. Perhaps the person who acts as if I am invisible is herself feeling invisible – perhaps she feels unworthy of being greeted; perhaps her self-confidence and her ability to be friendly has been whittled away by the heavy burdens her life has accumulated. Perhaps she is so preoccupied with something huge going on in her life – a simcha or sadly a misfortune – that she looks at me but does not see me.

And then again, perhaps she is a snob.

But that is her problem – and I should not let negativity make me parve. Therefore, I hope to fight my own inclination to look away, and instead offer a “hello/gut Shabbos” greeting.

That will be a gift to her – and to whomever else I encounter who is feeling negative. A positive remark is like a sip of water when someone is parched. It rejuvenates. Think of how you felt when the fast ended and you drank a cup of cold water or juice. As those first few drops flowed down your throat, you felt the cold wetness suffusing your entire body and you immediately felt revived.

A compliment, a comment of praise – even a simple hello – permeates the recipient’s soul, flooding it with a sense of well-being or even hope. And the giver feels elevated as well. A kind word is mutually uplifting.

Have a good Shabbos!

Young Israel And Lancaster Mikvah Sponsor Hershey Park Outing

Wednesday, November 1st, 2006

         This past Chol Hamoed, there were many venues for family outings, many sponsored by worthwhile charities. But only one featured the famous Hershey’s Chocolate World, as well as the entire adjoining Hershey Park amusement facility, that was rented out for Jewish children and their parents to enhance the Yom Tov spirit. The event was co-coordinated by the National Council of Young Israel and the Mikvah of Lancaster County. With Jewish music playing throughout the park, over 15,000 participants joined in a day of rides, concerts and games, and delicious food to be eaten in magnificent large sukkahs.

 



The very talented Ira Heller relaxed after two concerts in the sukkah with his lovely wife, Alysia.


 

 


The Levy family from Flatbush learned everything about making chocolate at the

Chocolate World Tour. Yummmm!

 

         The National Council used this special day to give to the community, inviting over 1,500 individuals from Chai Lifeline to attend at no charge. Rabbi Yehoshua Sauer, director of Synagogue Services at the National Council, stated, “This event is a needed respite to those families who have a child who has a chronic and life threatening illness. This day allows families to have a bonding experience, as families are torn apart as one parent has to care for the child in the hospital and one takes care of the rest of the family at home. Today everybody is able to be together.”

 



Yanky and Atara Reich brought their children, Yechial Moshe and Chana Leah, but ended up bringing home a new pet monkey who they immediately named “Yoli.”


 

 


Rabbi Yehoshua Sauer, his wife Yaffa and children Shmuli, Simcha, Simi and Dovi.

 

         One place that really allowed them to be together was at the simchas bais ha’shoava, where a live band played and all the participants joined in singing and dancing.

 

         The Lancaster Mikvah not only is used by the local community but by the many tourists who come to visit the beautiful Amish country.

 


Yehuda, Tzvi, Sara, Dovid, and little Binyomin were very grateful that their parents,

Akiva and Malkie Schwartz, brought them to the park.

How they were going to fit the Taz in the car was another story.

Where Are The Moms And Dads? (Two Letters)

Wednesday, June 11th, 2003

Letter #1 – Can We Afford These Maids?

Dear Rebbetzin Jungreis:

I spent Pesach in what would appear to be idyllic surroundings. We stayed at a beautiful hotel, where we were served sumptuous meals and were entertained every evening of Chol Hamoed. Even the weather conformed. Our rooms were perfectly and strategically located overlooking a spacious garden and in close proximity to the dining room. As such, I had ample opportunities to observe the children who played in this garden.

During Yom Tov, I attended various stimulating lectures. Each of the speakers reminded us that it was incumbent upon us to feel that we ourselves were being liberated from Egypt. They each discussed the difficulties of doing so. There was one segment of the population who easily would have understood this concept – the children…. the ones left day after day in the hands of illiterate, inappropriately dressed maids who ignored them.

I watched the maids talking to each other in Spanish, impatiently turning to the children whenever it was necessary to say, “Yes, Yes, Yes” or “No, No, No,” the only English words they seem to have mastered. I watched parents walking by oblivious to their children’s cries. I heard children cry out “Mommy, mommy” and in response the “Mommy” would instruct the maid to “get him/her something to eat so he/she stops complaining.”

So, to those parents who have freed themselves from the constraints of their children, I want to say that there is a steep price to pay for the luxury of hired help. Your children are paying this price every day. Is it the Torah way to subject your precious children to mediocrity - quite literally enslaving them to the whims of an uneducated, unrefined hired hand?

Whether this description fits you or your daughter, your son, your niece or your nephew, we are all culpable. We are neglecting and therefore destroying our future. The question is, can we really afford the price of these maids?

Letter #2 - Dumping On Parents

Dear Rebbetzin Jungreis:

I have been reading your articles from the time that I was a little girl, as does everyone else in our family. As a matter of fact, your column is always the topic of discussion at our Shabbos table. I never thought that I would write to you with the specific request that my letter be published in your column. The reason why I am making this request rather than asking you to respond privately is because I am hoping that the parties involved who read your column will get the message.

Before I write about my concerns, I would like to make a disclaimer. I have hakoras hatov, appreciation, for the many brachas (blessings) of a family spending Yom Tov together. Baruch HaShem, we are a large family with seven siblings – all married except for me, the youngest. My sister, who lives in Eretz Yisrael, is expecting her fifth child, and is having a difficult pregnancy. My brother has four children and lives in Lakewood. Both these families came to our parents’ home for Pesach. I also had the privilege of coming home this year, since I am currently studying in Seminary in Yerushalayim.

My other siblings went to their in-laws’. My parents are no longer young, so making Pesach for such a large group was not an easy task. Nevertheless, my mother insisted that my sister and brother and their families come, assuring them that it was her pleasure and joy to have them (which I am sure it was) but still, the work took its toll on her.

I don’t have to tell you what Pesach preparations entail. On top of that, serving Yom Tov meals to all those people would tax the energy of even a younger person. Before one meal was finished, preparations had to be made for the next. My mother literally never got out of the kitchen, and when she did, it was to clean the mess that my nieces and nephews left in every room, although she couldn’t quite keep up with the matzoh crumbs all over the floor. Additionally, the sounds of children playing, fighting, and running around was not easy on the nerves.

My father, who is not well and needs his nap, did not have a moment of peace. Everything in the house was in disarray, and by the end of the Yom Tov, my mother looked like she was on the verge of collapse. My siblings acted as if our home was a hotel, with baby-sitting, meals, and maid service.

I understand that they are exhausted and that they work very hard throughout the year. They don’t have much money, so they don’t have help at home and they look upon Pesach as their vacation – their yetzias Mitzraim - their liberation from their chores and responsibilities.

I am certain that you are wondering why I didn’t help my mother out. Well, I would have loved to were it not for the fact that my sister-in-law decided to visit old friends whom she hasn’t seen in a long time. She left her children in my charge…. so I was busy baby-sitting. Her lack of consideration really annoyed me. It never occurred to her that I might also want to see my old friends, and that it might be more important for me to socialize since I am in the shidduch parasha. I wanted to say something to her but I didn’t want to cause friction in the family and upset my parents. Besides, I was so angry that had I told her what was in my heart, I probably would have ended up with a major fight and said something that I would have come to regret.

But now that Yom Tov is over and I am back in Seminary, I have taken it upon myself to write to you because I realized that something has to be said… that if things are left unchecked, the consequences can be terrible. I also realize that neither my sister nor my sister-in-law would take kindly to my mussar admonitions. I spoke to many girls at my school who had similar experiences, so I really think that this problem should be addressed.

I can see why children should come home for Pesach, but not if they are going to burden their families. I hope that when I get married, I will not fall into that trap.

Please accept my deepest feelings of respect and best wishes for your continued success in your Avodat HaKodesh.

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/judaism/rebbetzins-viewpointrebbetzin-jungreis/where-are-the-moms-and-dads-two-letters/2003/06/11/

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